


i think you need to work on your (military-industrial) complexes

by wendythewang



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Chit Sang has a lot of rage (against the machine) to work off, Dialogue, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 13:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20193367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendythewang/pseuds/wendythewang
Summary: In which Zuko—son of Ozai, son of Azulon, son of Sozin, son of, well, someone—learns from an unexpected source that his political education has been lacking.





	i think you need to work on your (military-industrial) complexes

**Author's Note:**

> im trying to write the lok-noncompliant post-atla toph fic of my dreams rn, but it'll probably be in ~development hell~ for all of eternity... it's toph beifong and oc girlfriend who is a trans lesbian!!! set in ba sing se!!! the life and death of their tumultuous romance...............
> 
> but instead of working on that i wrote. 
> 
> whatever this is. 
> 
> please ignore the very obvious fact that some of the concepts mentioned would be completely out of place as analytical tools within the history of the avatar world up to that point. i don't care if anyone else does, but i always find it hilarious when extremely period-inappropriate concepts are really obviously shoe-horned into period pieces.

Of all the people to look for Zuko that night they finally return to the Western Air Temple, Chit Sang, the head-busting prisoner who casually insinuated himself into their escape plan, doesn’t occur to him at all. 

Chit Sang’s voice is deep, gruff, which makes his hesitance so jarring. “So, uh, Zuko—Prince Zuko, you’re against the war, aren’t you?”

Zuko abruptly sits up in his bedroll, where he’s been fiddling with a, well, _his _own wanted poster, picked up on a pitstop back from the Boiling Rock. He crumples it in his fist and doesn’t meet Chit Sang’s gaze, instead staring at, for lack of anything else, approximately Chit Sang’s feet. The man has a tattoo on his ankle. They don’t know much about him at all, except that he wasn’t jailed for anything cruel or malicious (according to Toph), at least by his own definitions. But he’s twice Zuko’s size, and he’s _blocked _Zuko’s exit. _What the hell do you want? _

“Well, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yes?” _Why are you talking to me? Go away, _he wished in vain. A lot of his wishing is in vain these days.

(_Stop calling it jerkbending.) _

_(My name isn’t Sifu Hotman, and you don’t call Katara Sifu Wetwoman. That would be terrible, actually. I think she’d hit you. Don't do that.)_

_(I’m not your servant, Toph, and you can walk perfectly well now—hey, that fucking hurt!) _

_(Appa, I _just showered_, please.) _

Other wishes too. He tries not to think about the important ones.

“That’s great.” Great? “Great to know there’re non-imperialist members of the royal family out there. Doing great.” Is that—is Chit Sang trying to sound encouraging? It’s awful. Probably how Zuko sounds when _he _tries, too. Maybe they can bond over that. What do people normally bond over?

“Can I _help_ you?”

“Yes, actually.” Like it’s a real offer, instead of Zuko bristling his spines like a boarcupine. “What about the Dragon of the West?”

That sends a pang through Zuko’s chest. Is Uncle Iroh against the war? Of course he is, and Zuko _betrayed_ him, betrayed the only person who ever stayed with him at his worst, all for a father who never cared. For a father who wants to _raze the world _and rule over the ashes and (he thinks in a voice that sounds eerily like his old finance tutor) despite how that completely defeats the economic purpose of having colonies in the first place_. _Even as he’s kind of accepted at this point his father’s—_Ozai’s_ absolute moral drought, he would have expected the Fire Lord to consider the net loss of resources incurred by the plan. But maybe this is his inheritance: pure, systematic destruction that rolls onward machine-like and purposeless.

Honourless.

And now Mai’s sacrificed her safety—possibly her life—to safeguard his attempt at redemption (_his life_). Sometimes... sometimes all he can feel is doubt. He doesn't doubt that he's _right _to join Aang, he could never doubt that now. _It's not my goal that's lacking; it's me. _Is this really his destiny? What has he done to deserve a place in building a kinder world? He’s been a liar, a traitor, a fugitive, a thief. Bit the hand that fed how many times now? 

He decides not to say any of this. He figures that unloading this on a complete stranger would be unhealthy even for him. “Uncle is also against the war.”

“Oh, that’s also great. There were rumours, you know, after he was imprisoned.” Zuko suppresses a cringe. The tower, the cell, and the rice splattered against the stones. _I did this._ It doesn’t take much these days. Chit Sang seems to notice his discomfort, shuffles a bit, but doesn’t stop. “Considering his track record up until Ba Sing Se, the whole ‘greatest royal general since Sozin thing’, it was a little hard to believe he’d be against the war. All the official papers said he was against the war, but that’s because your uncle is _popular _among the people. Traitor could’ve meant that he got tired of playing second tsungi to Ozai and tried to pull a coup, so the propaganda machine turned his image unpatriotic so any nobility that would have preferred Iroh would be unable to act.” 

At this point, Zuko slides out of his bedroll, wondering if he needs to be here for this. Chit Sang seems content to just… talk on. Monologue. Does this count as a soliloquy? Zuko can’t remember the difference between the two poetic devices. It’s been a while. Chit Sang wasn’t this talkative in prison, was he? Should Zuko _leave_? _But this is _my _room. Why should _I_ have to go? _It is a little interesting, though, this inside scoop into the information an average, uh, prisoner would be privy to. What things look like to his people, things he’s only ever been in the middle of, never outside-looking-in. 

Until something catches Zuko’s attention: “…and we never managed to get a statement out of his staff, after he ended the siege…”

“Oh, fuck. You’re with the press.” Zuko feels vaguely betrayed. He doesn’t even _know _Chit Sang, why should he get to feel that?

Chit Sang reels back in offense. “I’m good!”

"The press is a propaganda machine!"

“Well, I got thrown in jail, so that sums up my relationship with the current regime.” Regime, hah. Not many people with the guts to call the Fire Lord’s rule a _regime_. There are connotations to those kinds of things. It’s unseemly. "Anyways, you shouldn't condemn reporters considering freedom of the press is non-existent within the Fire Nation. As long as the press is oppressed, the people are oppressed. Get it? Press? Oppressed?" 

Zuko decides not to dignify that with an answer. This strategy works better here than it has with Sokka. “How did you...?" 

“My day job was with the National Post.” Zuko clenches his teeth. The _National Post_. They’re _barely_ news. Gossip about aristocracy and conspiracy theories about evil airbenders-in-hiding. Chit Sang notices his revulsion. “Hey, my day job! I had to pay the bills! Not that you would know. My paper, my _real _paper, was underground circulation. Pamphlets mostly, provincial level. The paper didn’t get exposed though. I can be a bit… bull-headed.” Chit Sang flushes.

Zuko winces. Sympathy pains, but for embarrassment. “I know the feeling.” Intimately.

“So, I though the message wasn’t out there enough. We had our supporters, but too many people just bought what schools and papers fed them. Fight the power, you know?”

“…No?”

“Right, royalty. Not gonna lie, that puts you in the bad books with my crowd. Cog in the machine.”

The sound that escapes Zuko is some kind of growl, probably. 

“You’re different now; I get it. Betraying the Fire Nation to run with the Avatar, pretty inspired. My buddy from the prison admires you.” Like, there’s no way Chit Sang knows what actually went down during the Eclipse. How true are the stories circulating of why he’s a traitor once again? What do the citizens of the Fire Nation think he’s done? Chit Sang is silent, for a brief moment, fists clenching. He’s probably—oh, he’s probably thinking about his friend. They had to leave him behind, right? Zuko hopes isn’t being punished for his connection to Chit Sang. Another hope in vain. Of course he’s being punished.

Chit Sang takes a deep breath. “And I’m all for self-determination, like what you’re doing right now. Actually, do you know what self-determination means?”

Zuko wracks his brain for the definition. He hasn’t thought about this for—probably since before he was _banished_, and it wasn’t a particularly important part of the curriculum. “Early Fire Nation history? Pre-unification? The independent island states.” _Wait, why am I even answering him? _“What is this even about?” 

“Yeah, the island states; that’s the only context you’ll ever see it brought up in school.”

Zuko tries to reel in his impatience. “But you mean… the context of the colonies?”

“Yeah, voting and that shit. Anyways, after Omashi, or New Ozai, I guess, but like I said, self-determination. Fuck New Ozai, it’s a colonizer’s _imposed _name—”

“Not New Ozai anymore, actually. The eclipse. King Bumi—” Zuko makes a vague hand gesture, to indicate ‘forcibly reconquered his city from the occupying Fire Nation forces because he is apparently an unhinged and muscle-bound old man Aang’s age, but, like, including the iceberg timeout’.

“Oh, that’s great! After we got the news about Omashu, though, and all the patriotic celebrations were grating on my nerves, I went out, got drunk, and got caught graffitiing ‘down with the military-industrial complex’ on the municipal building.”

“That’s… bold.” Military-industrial complex… whatever that means…

Chit Sang grins. His teeth are crooked, but very white. “I know. They ended up searching my apartment, though, after they arrested me, and found some pamphlets too, so I got charged with treason instead of just incendiary speech.” Oh, and that’s how some seditious vandalism—seditious, sure, but still petty according to the legal code—got a man shipped to the Boiling Rock.

“That’s rough. Uh, sorry.”

Chit Sang gives him a suspicious look. “What’re you apologizing for, kid? You didn’t set me up.” He crosses his arms. “Wait,_ did you_?”

“No!” _Why would you even think that? _

“Whatever, kid—Zuko—you won’t get all huffy if I call you that? I don’t believe in royal titles.”

“Call me what you want,” Zuko forces out. He’s, like, barely a royal anymore, anyways.

Comprehension lights Chit Sang’s face. “You don’t know what a military-industrial complex is, do you?”

“No—why are you expecting me to?”

“Well, you were _living _in one!” Chit Sang groans, rubs his face with the palm of his hand. “This is our future generation… I’ll give you some basic political science lessons—”

“I _know _politics.” Though Uncle’s lessons, which he usually _ignored_, were mostly taught through weird idioms and allegories. Zuko hasn’t learned much technical terminology. He knows military rankings, though. The bureaucratic system. The role of the Fire Sages. The overlapping and contradicting natures of ancient Oral Law and more contemporary Code Law. He amends his statement. “I know _things_ about politics.”

“Evidently not _enough_. There’s stuff they leave out of the official curriculum. Dammit, Enzhu or Chufeng would be better at this.”

“I don’t need any—”

Chit Sang kneels down and places his hands on Zuko’s shoulders. His hands are warm and almost comforting. Protective. That’s an alarming thought. Zuko’s eyes widen. Chit Sang pulls away. “In this life, I’m not gonna see democracy.”

Zuko just barely knows what ‘democracy’ means. He nods.

“But I didn’t think the imperial conquest would end either. But you kids are getting it done. If you aren’t Fire Lord by the end of this—”

Agni, isn’t that a _terrifying _thought? “I’m won’t be!”

“—then you’ll be heir. Everyone knows your uncle has no other possible heir as of now. Your little sis is already a mini-conqueror, so she’s obviously not the person to end the military-industrial complex. It’s your _duty _as a future Fire Lord to learn these sorts of things.”

Zuko swallows. “For my people,” his voice breaking on the last word.

Chit Sang smiles with approval. “And for liberty, equality, and brotherhood among all the nations.” It sounds as if he’s reciting it by rote. It also sounds _right_.

Zuko nods. Chit Sang settles down (_on _my _bedroll, I guess! I guess!)_. He asks for ink, a brush, and a sheet of paper. “There are some basics, kid, that you gotta get down before anything else.”

Sure. He doesn’t have to be up until dawn. Zuko has time.

* * *

While the war is over, the work is still mountainous. Zuko wouldn’t pull Aang aside for just any reason.

To tell the truth, Aang’s walking in expecting news of something _catastrophic_, like a giant spirit shaped like a platypus-bear raining destruction on innocent villagers. Just, well, something on the scale of the threats that _the Avatar _should deal with.

Aang just wants to be a normal kid some days, but he is a pretty big deal.

Instead, he sees Zuko seated calmly at a table set with steaming teacups and writing tools. Beside Zuko sits someone _extremely _familiar, but Aang can’t _quite _place who he is—

At Aang’s entrance, Zuko looks up. “Aang, sit down! You remember Chit Sang, from the Boiling Rock?”

Aang nods. _Well, now I do. _

“Then we won’t need introductions. Some of his friends will be by later; they're also reporters.” _Chit Sang is a reporter? I don't remember that coming up at the campfire. _

Chit Sang smiles. “Sit down, kid. You’re getting a crash course in politics.” 

**Author's Note:**

> chit sang's friends (aforementioned enzhu and chufeng) call zuko "lord", not "my lord", because 'we don't acknowledge the legitimacy of the monarchy, so even though you definitely have the title of Fire Lord, you are not My Lord. we appreciate the work you've been doing and you have our respect, but it's a matter of principle more than anything. it is the monarchy as an institution that we do not respect. the quality of the individual monarch is irrelevant')


End file.
